My granddad died in 1983. For the previous 20 years, he kept a diary, recording his day as a farm worker and then through his retirement. We are lucky enough to have his notebooks, all the entries in block capitals, often in pencil. He always tells us about the weather, sometimes about what is going well at the allotment. We get updates of how Liverpool are doing and the occasional political thought. He suffered from rheumatoid arthritis, was always in pain, but you would never know from these entries. My mum once described him as a contented man. Who knows, really, but certainly, there is something soothing about these entries. So I thought I would share them with you. We have a few years to cover so buckle up.
Got up at 9.30. A cold, raw day. Ron brought Jane and Dot for the day. Ron gone to Bolton to watch Liverpool in cup match. Got back about 7pm. M Steward buried.
(Liverpool won, 0-1, scorer Ian Callaghan. My dad has just told me that he had a car crash on the way home. “Not sure why I wasn’t prosecuted.” Don’t think my Granddad was aware.)
My Granddad is Keeping Busy 